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#poetry

421 posts287 participants38 posts today
hridaya

A hermit's hut is lonely encircled by bamboo
a merchant's gate is high with hundred-foot-long walls
in his lonely hut a hermit finds peace
behind his high gate a merchant finds none

— Stonehouse
from "The Mountain Poems of Stonehouse" - Red Pine (tr.)

#zen
#buddhism
#poetry

ɿɿɔ ʏɿᴎm luɯ

¡Es HOY!

Vengan a conocer sobre la revista literaria bilingüe Beyond Dimensions y a algunas de sus artistas, que expondrán su obra durante un mes en la Biblioteca Vasconcelos.

Platiquemos de literatura hecha fuera de los canales culturales comunes; del arte y de artistas compromeridxs con su obra y que han colaborado con nosotrxs.

Ahí nos vemos.

#poesia#literatura#poetry
grrgyle

In a castle far from every prince, by Marisca Pichette

slrpnk.net/post/27127685

slrpnk.netIn a castle far from every prince, by Marisca Pichette - SLRPNKWhite dress frosted with lace weeping threads hem worn from wandering white marble halls cold as snow sunsets blood-red, rose-red & nights raven-black. I tried growing my hair long as towers, long as history long as these empty, empty, halls. Oils & braiding & fancy shampoos never worked, left my hair brittle & only just past my shoulders years and years on. I stopped trying to fit that fairy tale. I thought I’d grow apples & roses coat fields in flowers & fruit that I’d bake into pies and press into cider to warm me each winter next. But I go tired of farming my hands chapped & back aching & when the first grey snuck into my dark brown — never black, never luscious — hair I put my seeds away. One winter I thought I’d sleep the seasons away, pad my face with mud masks & stop each wrinkle before it formed I was too late, of course, the wrinkles began in my twenties, and continue spreading like frost. I don’t sleep well at the best f times rising to wander in moonlight & snack in the kitchen when the mice are sleep. So no — I decided that the story wasn’t for me. I never learned to swim, so the pond stays isolated. Its merfolk & frogs unkissed, undanced. Under the willows: only wind. I thought finally about reading — how else can I travel without cramming my feet into too-tight hoes meant only for parties? I filled my pockets with snack & retired to the library only to find that most of the books are quite boring, not for me & the cord for the kindle is terribly shorts & the chairs not as comfortable as they looked from afar So no. I am not fair or smart or lovesick or distressed or waiting for someone to tell me who I’ll be. I know: I dread gardening I loathe cleaning I hate socializing. I know: I can’t swim can’t cook can’t sleep well at all. I know there are some books I love but most I don’t. Some night I am light but most I am heavy. I know all these things about myself & in finding out each I lived. I tried it all, & I’ve decided I like myself best. I like wandering in the night & letting my tea grow cold. I like dozing on the couch & dyeing my hair. I like myself — a lot — & I don’t mind if I change & grow old. Because I know that each year I try something I likely won’t like at all I’m knowing myself more. & I’m loving that self better than all the ones I knew before.
#poetry
*
Richard

Video essay: What Lesia Kulchynska discusses about the gig economy in warfare and terrorism has an obvious positive correlation with commodity fetishism. She demonstrates public anger is not what brings revolutions anymore and that new strategies need to be considered.

tilley.blog/lesia-kulchynska-t

70%
tilley.blog/category/70/
subspacewagon.systems/category

www.tilley.blogLesia Kulchynska: The Lure of War video essay – notes, memos, etc.
More from Richard
#revolution#peacekeeping#community
stgreenie

The performative bastards
with their iron boot
currently crushing
Lady Justice's throat
prance about and boast
as they march
in fascist lockstep
while dismissing
the tepid legalities
of prior laws
they so brazenly piss on

We bide time patiently
waiting for our pay back #chance
when the wheel of consequence
will turn and crush their arrogance

Karma always takes care
of her sis Miss Justice

#vss365#poetry#poem
TheTypeSound

I used to go to the corner
And, scream
I yelled at the city
Threw my anger at
Whatever made it hungry
And dirty
My poetry wasn’t even processing
It was channeling
The streets before
They got power washed every morning
It was making music with the cable cars
Lamenting that the Beats were dead
And, that I was the only one
Replacing them

#sanfrancisco#poetry
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